


Hear the Silence

by MatildaSwan



Series: Stolen Moments [2]
Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, F/M, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should have made it easier to deal and move on; move back, to how things were before, without him around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear the Silence

It felt weird, knowing Malcolm wasn’t around, wasn’t here. Knowing that he was somewhere else; not in Number 10, not on his way up those stairs or strutting down the corridor to give someone the bollocking of their life. It was weird and strange and _wrong;_ knowing he wasn’t going to pop his head in for a friendly verbal evisceration. Knowing he wasn’t watching from the sidelines as her career turned to shit, only to stop things falling to pieces at the last minute. It was strange going to work knowing she wouldn’t see his face; have his shadow darken her door. It _should_ be pleasant, the space. Lord knows she needed it, especially after the last time she saw him.

It was petty, she knew that. She’d known that then, as she sprinted down that corridor: coat flapping behind her as she ran, ran away from him. He’d asked for her help and she’d refused. She’d ignored him, still so caught up in her own shit storm of problems: James being a twat and Ella’s birthday, DoSAC and Moustache Sally, the next inevitable cock-up she just _knew_ was around the corner, and fucking _Malcolm._ He was his own category, for Christ sake: he had no right to expect anything from her.

The office was much quieter without him, even with Fleming crawling around the place; that was rather nice, but something niggled at the back of Nicola’s mind. Well, lots of things niggled, but most of them made sense. Relief; she’d never need to explain, could pretend it never happened: blessing is disguise. Anger: that was normal response when it came to Malcolm. Irritation at his general existence, that was normal too. Fury, affection, sorrow. They were normal things that should be there, had always been there: nothing strange about those. There was something else, nestled at the back of her mind. Something had stitched itself into her spine, grown round her ribs to choke her heart.

She was too afraid to name it.

*

His teased her through her knickers. She was soaked, keyed up; barely to move, her body wasn’t cooperating anymore. She tried to grind down on his hand, desperate and needy. Malcolm chuckled as he forced her hips back down into the mattress, lips ghosting up her neck to her ear.

“Words, Nic’la. Tell me what you want,” she could feel his smile on her skin. “Do you want my fingers inside you; make you come quick and fast? Or my tongue, sliding over and in you, warm and wet?” She sobbed, choking on her own breathe. “I’d have to hold you to the bed though; you practically kicked me onto the floor last time. Can’t have that again, can we?” she groaned, shaking her head frantically. “Or do you want my cock? Do you want me to rip you pants off and buried myself in that gorgeous heat of yours, fuck you till you see stars. Is that what you want?”

_Fuck_ she loved it when he got wordy.

“Open your fucking mouth and say something, pet,” Malcolm nipped at her collarbone, impatient and demanding. She whimpered: so far gone but too far away, so full of fucking _need._ “Malcolm, please?” she begged, biting her lip as his fingers brushed her clit. “Touch me. _God_ , I need you to touch me, please?”

“That’s my girl,” delving inside the sodden material, deft fingers making her gasp.

*

She’d done the right thing. She knew that; they both knew that. They had accepted that from the beginning. It wasn’t possible to stay together, wasn’t logical to try. So she’d plucked up the courage and admitted what they’d both been ignoring. She probably could have been more subtle or chosen a better time, but she was Nicola Murray and that wasn’t really her strong suit. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. She hoped Malcolm understood, he hadn’t said much either way: she was sure he’d been close to doing it himself anyway. They agreed to pick up the pieces and go back to solely professional.

It really hadn’t worked.

She didn’t even think he tried, really; bruised egos had a habit of that. He bullied and berated her as much as ever; that was normal, professional interaction, but somehow he cut deeper now. His words stung more now, everything he said to her sounded so _different_. And he knew it. Every time he insulted her: about her incompetence, her face, her policies, her wardrobe, her general fuck-up-ness and status as a waste of space; he knew he cut that much deeper now. As he shouted and ranted and raged, his voice echoed in her ears: harsh surrounded her as she remembered soft and gentle and _them._ It broke a bit of her heart every time: he saw that and he did it anyway. Then he’s asked for her help: she’d held out, kept him at arms length.

Then he’d said _that_ and she snapped. She’d thrown it back in his face and fled, bolting through Number 10 as fast as her kitten heels would allow, out the door and onto the street.

She’d run all the way back to the office.

*

”Jesus Malcolm, get on with it,” she ordered, voice harsh with arousal. She scrapped her nails across his scalp, pushing him down past her bellybutton. He laughed into her stomach, her muscles twitching as he trailed kisses down her body; relaxed and languorous.

“You’re in no position to make demands of me, love,” she felt him grin into her thigh, licking up droplets of sweat. “You’re only a cabinet minister.”

She growled as he mouthed at her flesh, body quivering. Whatever jab she’d meant to send back got lost in her moan as he buried his face between her legs; tongue frantic and frenzied as her toes curled in the sheets.

*

He’d been sacked and she’d been there and now he wasn’t anywhere.

People has shouted and yelled and danced while her world crashed around her ears. The office celebrated the end of a tyranny; uncorked wine and jovial shouts. She’d hidden herself away, fighting back tears. She’d always assumed he would be there: be there for _her_ , no matter how much he said he despised her. Hate was a feeling; it meant something. It was noise and movement and burning inside and alive. It filled a room and demanded attention.

Now there was just silence.


End file.
